


Knights

by eden22



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Barebacking, Double Penetration, M/M, Mild humiliation kink, Multi, seduction is a plot right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: London Knights are always proprietary with each other.





	1. Mitch

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [splatticus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/splatticus/pseuds/splatticus) in the [PuckingRare2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Nazem Kadri / Mitch Marner / John Tavares
> 
> London Knights are always proprietary with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end note. Unbeta'd.

Look, Mitch wasn’t an idiot, okay? He’d been with the Knights for three years. It had been a lot at the beginning, his first year in the O. Still a kid who didn’t know what to expect going into juniors, still wondering if he should have maybe taken the scholarship. Finding out what the Knights were like on top of like, the normal stress stuff that all his other friends were going through was maybe something that caused him to freak out once or twice. But by the end of his time there, when he was the fucking captain? He like, _got it_. He was the one that was trusted to like, mentor the rookies and shit, he was the one who like, set the tone in the dressing room. He took them to the fucking Memorial Cup, he had that shit on fucking _lock_.

But. He also figured it would stay in the O, y’know? Juniors shit that would wash away now that he had made the show, now that he was a fucking _Toronto Maple Leaf_. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that it was a bit weird – he wasn’t sure he’d ever forget the look on Davo’s face when he casually dropped it into conversation, before he was very loudly informed that _no, bro, not every fucking team does that, what the fuck?_. After that, he’d kept his mouth shut about it outside of the guys, and then, yeah. He figured, make the Leafs, leave the juniors shit behind. 

And then, after his first game with the Leafs, Nazem Kadri had come up behind him and wrapped a huge, heavy hand around the back of Mitch’s neck. His breath was hot as it ghosted over Mitch’s ear, his soft, deep _good game_ almost lost in the clamour of the locker room, everyone still losing their shit over Matts’ four goals. His grip tightened on the back of Mitch’s neck, tighter and tighter until it started to hurt and oh. 

_Oh._

Mitch guessed some stuff didn’t stay in juniors after all. 

Still that like. That didn’t _mean_ anything, not really or like, not necessarily. It was open to interpretation, was what he was saying. It could mean that the shit from the Knights carried forward into the NHL or it could just mean… Mitch didn’t know. That Kadri was just a bit mean or something. A bit rough with the rookies for no reason. Or no wait, like, maybe it was hazing. Kinda, jostle the kids around a bit, make sure that they know who the vets are, fuck with them a little bit before welcoming them into the team. That sort of thing happens, right? Even in the NHL?

Mitch decides to test it. 

It’s maybe not his smoothest move, in retrospect. It’s not like he really knows the guy, after all. Just that he used to be a Knight too, and like, how he comes off in interviews. That he had a reputation as a bit of a hothead. As someone with a temper. But he seemed nice enough, aside from the neck squeezing thing, smiled and laughed with all the guys, bought a round at the club they eventually ended up at. He’s barely looked at Mitch since they got to the club, with its loud music and press of sweaty bodies, and Mitch is doubting himself more and more by the minute. It wasn’t really even anything, he tells himself, just him like, projecting the Knights stuff on this older dude just because Mitch maybe thinks he’s hot or whatever. He can’t stop thinking about it though, can’t help himself from looking around at the other guys and thinking about how he can try and provoke Kadri. How he can prove himself either right or wrong like, for sure.

Mitch gets a drink but keeps it at one, enough to make him a little loose but nowhere near drunk. He’s all up in Matty’s business which Matty is tolerating with the same good humour that he tolerates everything that Mitch does. He’s half in Matty’s lap, head bent in towards Matty’s neck so that Matty can hear him as he tells him about how he was thinking about getting a dog but didn’t know if he would be a good dog dad, not like Matty. 

The grip around his wrist is a surprise, tight enough to have him turning on instinct, ready to try and fight away from whoever has him, only to find himself looking into the dark, narrowed eyes of Kadri. Mitch stares at him, eyes wide. The moment is loaded but Mitch isn’t sure with what. He’s still waiting, needs Kadri to make the first move, to show his hand before Mitch is forced to blindly dive in. 

“Everything alright?” Matty’s voice is loud, even above the din of the room, and Mitch can’t help but jump slightly. He was basically sitting in Matty’s lap and yet for that brief moment, caught on the sight of Kadri staring at him, he’d completely forgotten that the other man was there. 

“Everything’s great,” Mitch finally answers, and Kadri responds with a smirk that makes something hot twist through Mitch’s stomach. 

“Jesus,” he hears Matty mutter as he pushes Mitch off his lap, “I’m getting another drink.”

“We’re leaving,” Kadri says, as Matty disappears from sight, his grip tightening on Mitch’s wrist. It hurts, and Mitch can’t think around the pain. 

“Ok,” Mitch says, voice rougher than he expected to be. His head is swimming as Kadri pulls him through the crowd and out into the cold air but he’s not anywhere near drunk, doesn’t think he’s even tipsy anymore. Mitch stands there, shivering, while Kadri orders an uber, and tries not to overthink what’s about to happen. Or like, what he thinks is about to happen. What he wants to happen. He’s pretty sure now, that he was right, and the way that Kadri is intentionally ignoring him right now doesn’t do anything to diminish that belief. If anything, it makes him more certain. Away from the sounds and distractions of the club it’s more obvious how pointed Kadri’s dismissal of him is, how carefully he looks down at his phone, not even so much as angling his body towards Mitch. The heat in Mitch’s stomach is rising, gets worse when Kadri guides him into the back of the uber with a controlling hand placed low on Mitch’s back. 

Kadri’s condo is nice, way more like, adult than Mitch’s. Like, all the furniture goes together and there’s actual art on the walls. There’s a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter top too, where Mitch stops and waits while Kadri puts their coats away. Mitch tries to remember the last time he ate a piece of fruit, and fails. His mom would be pissed if she knew that, he thinks, and like, probably the team nutritionist. He’s still staring at the apples when Kadri comes up behind him, putting his hands low on Mitch’s hips and pulling Mitch back towards him. Mitch shivers at the feeling of the solid press of Kadri behind him, the heat of the other man’s body as he presses Mitch into the side of the counter. 

“So, Mitchy,” Kadri says, voice lightly mocking in a way that makes Mitch flush. “I heard you like it rough.” Mitch has no fucking idea how Kadri would have even heard that, but he can’t find it in himself to be pissed at whoever was spreading rumours about him or whatever, not with Kadri pressing him forward until the edge of the counter is biting into his stomach. He grinds himself against Mitch’s ass, and Mitch gasps as he leans forward, eyes wide as he tries to brace himself on the smooth countertop. “You want this?” Kadri asks, breath ghosting over Mitch’s neck and Mitch is nodding before he’s even finished asking. Kadri laughs, a bit mean, and then _bites_ Mitch’s neck, hard enough to have him arching back towards the other man, gasping loudly in the still air of the apartment. Kadri lets go of his hips, disappearing from behind him, and Mitch has to swallow a whine at the loss. 

“Come on,” Kadri says from behind him, and Mitch turns to see the other man staring at him with dark eyes. “All my stuff is in the bedroom.” He doesn’t wait for Mitch to respond, just turns and starts walking further into the condo, and Mitch is helpless to do anything but follow. 

Kadri’s bedroom is as nice as the rest of the place, his bed made and covered with a bunch of those decorative pillows that Mitch has never really understood the point of. He hasn’t turned on the overhead light, just the lamp on the edge of the table, and it makes the room somehow both more and less imposing than it would if it were fully lit. Kadri doesn’t look back at him as he begins throwing the pillows off the bed, pulling down the covers, and Mitch stops at the foot of the bed, suddenly feeling anxious and unsure. He fiddles with the edge of his shirt as Kadri finishes fucking around with the sheets, before finally glancing back over his shoulder at Mitch. He looks surprised, then annoyed. 

“Why are you still dressed?”

“I–” Mitch stumbles, flushing, “I just–” Kadri cuts him off with a wave of his hand, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“Show me,” he says, voice low, and Mitch swallows harshly before reaching up to grab the back of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. He isn’t sure how to be sexy while undressing, isn’t sure that’s even what Kadri wants from him, so he just undresses the same way he would at home, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them off. He kicks them away and then hesitates, fingers hooked under the elastic of his briefs. But Kadri is still staring at him, though Mitch can only catch the smallest glimpse of his eyes in the dimness of the room, the narrowest reflection of light holding him captive as he slowly drags off that final piece of clothing. He stands there, fully naked, and watches as Kadri’s gaze slides up and down his body. He fights down the urge to squirm, to feel self-conscious at the flush that’s covering his chest, the way his dick is beginning to take interest in what’s happening. 

“Come here,” Kadri finally says, and Mitch bridges the distance between them in a few short steps before stopping again. Kadri reaches up, running a hand down Mitch’s side. Mitch shivers at the touch, Kadri’s hand so much cooler than his own overheated skin. Kadri’s hand pauses at a spot on Mitch’s hip where a bruise has bloomed under his skin, black and purple. There’s a second where Mitch holds his breath, waiting to see if– and then Kadri is digging his fingers into the bruise, _hard_ and Mitch gasps, his spine curving forward without his permission as pain shoots through him. 

“Yeah,” Kadri says, a slow smile creeping across his face. “That’s it.” He takes his hand off of Mitch’s hip, leans back on his hands and says “kneel”. Mitch drops so fast it hurts, knees banging off of the hard wooden floor. He thinks about what it’d look like if he knees got bruised like this, what the guys might say if they saw, and has to swallow down the noise that wants to crawl out of his throat. Kadri’s hand curls around the edge of Mitch’s jaw, tilting his face up until their eyes meet. 

“You got a safeword?” he asks, and Mitch hates this part, hates having to talk about it, but he knows better than to try and avoid it. He shakes his head.

“I like doing traffic lights?” he says, though it comes out more like a question, and Kadri nods. It’s intense, the way he’s staring at Mitch, and Mitch can’t quite decide if he likes it or not. He runs his thumb along Mitch’s lower lip before pushing it inside his mouth, hooking it over his teeth and tugging Mitch’s head forward. Mitch’s breath hitches in his throat as Kadri keeps his hand there, thumb against Mitch’s tongue, his strong grip on Mitch’s jaw holding him in place. His hands flew forward of their own accord when Kadri pulled him in, and the other man glances down at them now, a lazy flick of the eye to where they rest, fingers splayed across the floor. 

“Hands behind your back,” he says, and Mitch immediately obeys. “Hold your wrist, and don’t let go until I’m done with you.” Kadri pauses, watching as Mitch settles into the new position, fingers wrapping tightly around his own arm. There’s a long, weighty moment where Kadri doesn’t do anything, just watches Mitch. Mitch doesn’t know what to do, just knows that he wants _something_ to happen so he closes his lips around Kadri’s thumb, sucks lightly. Kadi smiles down at him, a little mean. 

“That desperate for it, huh?” He says, voice soft and mocking. He pulls his thumb out of Mitch’s mouth, moving his hand into Mitch’s hair, pulling it back so that he’s looking straight up at the other man. “Ask for it then,” he says, and Mitch shakes his head, feeling the tug at the root of his hair. Kadri raises an eyebrow at him. “Colour?” he asks. 

“Green,” Mitch says. 

“Then ask me for it,” Kadri says. “We both know you want it, why bother trying to hide it.” Mitch shakes his head again. Kadri huffs out an exasperated breath, raising his other hand until the flat of his palm is resting against the side of Mitch’s face. 

“Green,” Mitch says instantly, “green, gree–” 

The slap is loud in the silence of the room, more noise than pain, but it still makes Mitch’s head spin, still immobilized by the fingers tangled in his hair. Kadri slaps him again, and the sting makes Mitch’s breath speed up. 

“Beg,” Kadri says, and slaps Mitch again, before he has the chance to even open his mouth. Kadri slaps him one more time before a whimper escapes from Mitch’s mouth. Kadri pauses, hand hovering so close to Mitch’s cheek he can feel the heat, or maybe it’s just that whole half of his face that’s hot. 

“What was that?” Kadri asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Please,” Mitch says. “Please, let me…” he trails off, and Kadri must decide to take pity on him, because he just runs his hand down the side of Mitch’s face, soothing, before releasing Mitch’s head entirely to open his pants, pushing them down just far enough to pull out his cock. Mitch’s lips part of their own violation as he stares at Kadri’s half-hard cock. He only has a moment to look at it though before Kadri’s hand is again tangling in his hair, and pulling him down. Mitch goes easily, shifting forward on the hard floor, the bones of his knees grinding against the wood until he’s close enough to lick at the head. He does exactly that, before the grip in his hair tightens, immobilizing. Kadri’s other hand grabs ahold of his own cock, holding it steady in front of Mitch’s mouth. 

“Can you deepthroat?” Kadri says, voice as casual as if they were discussing a hockey play. 

“Yes,” Mitch says, flushing at the roughened sound of his own voice. Kadri hums, and Mitch can hear the doubt in his voice, wants to argue with him, but Kadri is continuing before Mitch can pull his thoughts together enough to be properly offended. 

“Face fucking?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mitch says. 

“Colour?” Kadri says. 

“Green.” 

“Good,” Kadri says, ”let go of your arms and tap my thigh if it’s too much”. He uses the hand in Mitch’s hair to draw him down until the head of his cock is sliding into Mitch’s open mouth. He’s hot and heavy against Mitch’s tongue, a solid, inescapable weight. Mitch’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation of Kadri’s dick sliding into his mouth. Kadri keeps it shallow at first, a slow, steady slide in and out. The pain in his scalp is a steady counterpoint to the weight of Kadri in his mouth, one that Mitch could easily get lost in except… it’s not quite enough, what Kadri’s giving him. He can’t help but make a frustrated noise when Kadri again only lets Mitch get halfway down Kadri’s dick. Mitch pulls against Kadri’s grip without thinking about it, trying to get more of Kadri inside of his mouth. The hand in his hair immediately yanks him off of Kadri’s cock and before he can really begin to process that loss, his face is jerking to the side with the force of the slap that Kadri lands on his cheek. 

“Did I say you could move?” Kadri hisses, and Mitch whimpers, staring at the floor. 

“No,” he says. Kadri turns his head so that he’s meeting his eyes, and Mitch can’t help but continue to speak, words desperately falling from his mouth. “Please, I need it, I need more.” Kadri makes a considering noise, once again running his hand soothingly down the side of Mitch’s face. 

“Ok,“ he says after a minute spent stroking the skin of Mitch’s face. “I’ll give you what you need.” And then Mitch is being pulled back down. This time Kadri doesn’t stop pushing though, doesn’t stop even when the head of his cock hits the back of Mitch’s throat, when Mitch instinctively gags around it. He doesn’t stop until Mitch’s nose is pressed into the short hair at the base of his dick. He holds him there for a count of one, two, before pulling him back up. Mitch takes a loud, ragged, breath as Kadri slides out of his mouth, but Kadri doesn’t pause before he’s sliding back in, making Mitch take the entire length of him. He does it over and over again, the grip of his hand at the back of Mitch’s head trapping him, keeping his mouth wrapped around Kadri’s cock as he pulls him up and down. Mitch is dizzy with it, head swimming, when Kadri pulls out. Mitch can’t help the sad little noise that slips from his mouth. Kadri hushes him, condescending, and Mitch flushes with embarrassment. 

Kadri stands, forcing Mitch to shuffle back slightly. He takes ahold of his own cock again, lining it up with Mitch’s lips. 

“Colour?” 

“Green,” Mitch says, and Kadri is sliding back into Mitch’s waiting mouth. Standing, Kadri’s leverage is better, and soon he’s thrusting in and out of Mitch’s mouth faster than Mitch can really track over the sound of the blood rushing through his ears, the wet noises being forced out of his mouth by Kadri’s cock. He can feel the spit slicking his chin, knows he probably looks disgusting, looks wrecked. The thought of what they must look like, him kneeling naked on the floor, hands still locked behind his back, while Kadri, fully clothed, fucks his face makes him groan. He’s aware, for the first time in a while, of how hard he is, his cock leaking helplessly against his thigh as Kadri uses his mouth. His cock is sliding in and out of Mitch’s mouth easily now, Mitch’s throat opening up for it every time. Kadri’s breaths are speeding up, far above him, and Mitch looks upward to see Kadri staring down at him. One of Kadri’s hands raises to his cheek, and Mitch barely thinks to brace himself for another slap before one of Kadri’s thumbs is swiping beneath Mitch’s eye. It comes away wet, and Mitch didn’t even realize he was crying, but it must be pretty bad for Kadri to notice it in this light. 

Mitch can barely see Kadri’s face, can’t tell what expression he’s making as he thrusts into Mitch’s mouth once, twice more before pulling out and beginning to jerk off. Mitch barely has the chance to register the change before Kadri is groaning and coming, Mitch’s eyes flying shut just in time. Mitch feels the hot splash of Kadri’s cum hitting his face, and he can’t tell who is breathing harder, Kadri or himself, their gasping overwhelmingly loud in the still air of the room. 

Both of their breaths have begun to slow before Mitch feels Kadri’s thumb once again pass over the skin of his face, this time taking some of Kadri’s cum with it. Kadri presses the finger against Mitch’s mouth, and Mitch opens up for it easily, sucking Kadri’s cum off of his thumb. Kadri repeats this motion four more times, half rubbing his cum into Mitch’s skin – which Mitch is sure is gonna feel horrible later, but feels amazing right now – and half feeding it to Mitch. 

“Colour?” Kadri asks, voice soft. Mitch still hasn’t opened his eyes, happy to be wrapped up in the blank black canvas of the back of his eyelids. 

“Green,” Mitch says, and his voice is absolutely _destroyed_. He clears his throat, trying again, but it sounds just as bad as the first time, just as fucked up and fucked out. 

“Wanna keep going?” Kadri asks, and Mitch opens his eyes, looking up to find the older man staring down at him, an expression he can’t quite read on his face. Mitch hardly has to think before he replies. 

“Yes,” Mitch says. 

“It’s gonna take a while before I’m gonna be able to fuck you,” Kadri says, casual as anything. “But don’t worry, I’ve got some ideas for how we can pass the time.” He steps away from Mitch, leaving him shivering alone on the floor, hands still clenched behind his back. “Get on the bed.” 

Mitch scrambles to obey, climbing up until he’s kneeling on the mattress. He almost wants to cry at the feeling of the soft fabric against his bruised knees, the tingling sensation shooting through his arms after so long carefully spent keeping them still. He thinks about laying down for a second, then drops to his hands and knees instead, looking over to Kadri for a sign of approval. Kadri is already looking at Mitch as he tucks his cock back into his pants, rebuttoning them. He pauses for a second, finger playing with the button on his pants, making sure Mitch is looking before he slides his belt out of the loops. Mitch’s breathing speeds up as he watches Kadri fold the belt in half. 

“Green,” he says, not even waiting for Kadri to ask. Kadri laughs, loud and mean. 

“Desperate,” he teases again as he sets the belt on the bed so that he can grab ahold of Mitch’s hips, tugging him until he’s kneeling exactly where Kadri wants him, knees almost at the edge of the bed, ass pointed directly at Kadri. Mitch’s face is flushed with embarrassment, and he’s grateful when Kadri pushes down at his shoulders, allowing Mitch to bury his burning face in the sheets below him. He feels so exposed like this, so on display. He lets out a shaky breath as he feels Kadri’s fingers trail over the soft skin of his ass. He feels Kadri drop a kiss to the rise of one of Mitch’s hip, soft and surprising enough that it makes Mitch twitch. 

“Which would you prefer,” Kadri asks, voice dark and dangerous, his breath ghosting over Mitch’s skin as he asks, “My hand, or the belt?” Mitch shudders, both at the question and at the various mental images they inspire but… he hasn’t done this in so long, hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it, and he doesn’t hesitate before he replies.

“Belt,” he says. “Maybe next–” he cuts himself off. There’s a pause, and he’s relieved he doesn’t have to see what expression is on Kadri’s face right now. He jumps when a hand comes to rest on the small of his back, sliding up his spine to grip at the base of his neck. He feels the fabric of Kadri’s shirt brush against his overheated skin as the other man bends over to speak right next to his ear. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe next time.” Mitch shivers, and buries his smile in the sheets. He can see Kadri pick the belt off the bed out of the corner of his eye, shivers again when Kadri gently drags the leather across his back. “Do you want it here?” Kadri asks, pausing before dragging it down to rest against Mitch’s ass, “or here?” 

“There,” Mitch says instantly, breath speeding up just from the weight of the leather sitting against his skin. “Please, Kadri, Naz, please.” 

“C’mon Mitchy,” Kadri says. “Haven’t you caught on yet?” The belt lifts off his skin, coming back down almost instantly. It’s not hard, but the sensation, the twin threat and promise, is enough to tug a harsh breath from Mitch’s lungs. “I’ll always give you what you need,” Kadri continues, holding the belt still against Mitch’s skin. “Eventually,” he adds, before giving Mitch what can barely be called a tap. He does that once, twice, three times more before Mitch lets out an impatient noise, tilting his hips back. Kadri’s laugh is mean but Mitch doesn’t care about that if it gets him what he wants. Still, Kadri gives him two more light taps before, _finally_ , he brings the belt down in earnest, driving a shocked cry from Mitch’s lungs as pain instantly radiates up his spine. 

Kadri makes a considering noise as he pauses to run a hand over the cheek of Mitch’s ass. “Has anyone ever told you how pretty you pink up? So red after only one hit.” Mitch can feel his cheeks heating to match his ass as he buries his head further in his arms, pressing his face into the mattress. The feeling of Kadri’s hand coming down on the back of his thigh is surprising, and has Mitch making a loud, shocked noise. 

“I asked a question,” Kadri says. 

“Yes,” Mitch stumbles over his words, trying to answer as fast as possible. “Yes, guys have commented on it before, Kadri, _please_.” Kadri pauses for another moment, before he brings the belt back down, _hard_. Mitch lets out a noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan, pain once again shooting through his entire body. His hands clutch at the sheets beneath him, fabric bunching in his fists as he holds on, anchoring himself. 

“Colour?” Kadri asks.

“Green,” Mitch says on an exhale, and Kadri hits him again. The belt is thick enough that Mitch doesn’t think it’s going to leave welts but with how hard Kadri is hitting him, there’s a pretty good chance it’ll leave bruises, and Mitch’s dick twitches just thinking about it. Thinks about having to sit on the bus, sit on the plane next to the guys and not show any sign of pain. Having to make sure no one sees them in the locker room. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, loud enough to almost drown out the smack of the belt against his skin. His entire awareness has narrowed to the feeling of the belt against his skin, the quiet rustling of Kadri’s clothes as he raises his arm, the grunts and gasps being forced from his mouth. The silence of the condo pressing in on their tableau. His mouth is open against the fabric below him, his breaths pressing back into his face as he pants into the sheets, hot and desperate. He doesn’t bother counting the hits, Kadri didn’t tell him to, so it’s a surprise when the other man stops, leaving the leather resting against the swell of Mitch’s ass. 

“I think it’s time I start opening you up Mitchy, how do you feel about that?” 

“Yes,” Mitch’s voice is muffled, pressed into the fabric, but there’s no hesitation as he continues, “please. Green. Please.” 

“Good,” Kadri says, sounding pleased, and Mitch can’t help the warmth that shoots through him at the praise, such as it is. The belt disappears from his skin, but Mitch doesn’t move, waiting for Kadri to tell him where he wants him next. He can hear the other man moving around behind him, the sound of a drawer opening and closing, the rustling of fabric, but he still doesn’t raise his head, eyes pressed shut and fingers still clinging desperately to the sheets beneath him. 

Kadri’s hands against his hips are soft, soothing, but still unexpected enough that Mitch jumps at the first contact between them. It doesn’t take long for him to relax into the soft motions of Kadri’s hands stroking over his hips, his ass, pressing lightly into the sore skin there before soothing it away. His breath is beginning to slow, the sound of his heartbeat fading as Kadri’s hands pass over his skin again and again. 

“Give me your hands,” Kadri finally says, and Mitch doesn’t hesitate before releasing his grip on the sheets and raising his hands behind his back. He clasps them there without being asked, and Kadri makes an approving noise as he runs his fingers over the knuckles of one of Mitch’s hands. “Can you keep your hands here?” Kadri asks, “or should i use the belt?” Mitch’s entire body jerks at the word ‘belt’, and he’s responding almost before his brain has finished fully processing the question. 

“Belt, please,” he says, and Kadri laughs again. 

“So polite,” he says, slapping Mitch’s ass and making him jerk. “Such a good Canadian boy.” Mitch opens his mouth to protest, but then Kadri is taking ahold of his hands and there’s the feeling of leather wrapping around them, and Mitch forgets everything else completely. Kadri doesn’t tie the belt as tightly as Mitch would like, as tightly as he could if they were using proper restraints, but he does get why they can’t do that, a lesson immortalized in the slight scars around his ankles. Still, he can’t help but feeling slightly disappointed. _Next time,_ he tells himself, and then shivers at the reminder that this will probably happen again, that Kadri _wants_ this to happen again. 

His hands secure, Kadri steps back. Mitch’s breathing speeds up at the loss, at not knowing where Kadri is or what’s coming next, but he doesn’t bother to raise his head to look for him. He’s content to wait, certain, at this point, that Kadri is going to take care of him, is going to give him what he needs. He can feel himself drifting a little bit while he waits, losing himself in his head. When he hears the sound of a cap opening and closing though, his entire body tenses in anticipation. It must be obvious because one of Kadri’s hands finally returns to his skin, stroking up his thigh and over the swell of his ass. He stays there for a second, before raising his hand and bringing it back down, _hard_. It’s not anything, really, after the belt, but it’s enough to bring Mitch back into the moment, enough to anchor him in the way that Kadri’s hand moves to grip Mitch’s hip. Mitch tilts his hips backwards, more on instinct than anything, and Kadri’s laugh is as mean as ever, even as he finally presses a finger to the tight furl of Mitch’s hole.

“Such a little slut Mitchy, so fucking desperate for it. You do this for all your teammates?” 

Mitch is still trying to figure out if Kadri actually wants an answer when the other man pushes his finger in without warning, drawing a surprised noise from Mitch’s mouth. Kadri doesn’t wait, just starts moving his finger in and out, making Mitch’s hands clench against thin air, helpless. Kadri hums, a satisfied noise, as he continues to work his finger in and out of Mitch’s hole. It goes on like that longer than Mitch expects, just a slow, steady push of Kadri’s single finger, until Mitch begins to feel as desperate as Kadri keeps accusing him of being. He pushes his hips back, and is rewarded with another harsh slap to the thick muscle of his ass.

“Impatient,” Kadri says, clicking his tongue. “I just can’t quite decide here Mitchy,” he continues, speaking slowly, pacing his words with the movement of his finger in and out of Mitch. “Should I give you what you want, open you up as fast as possible for my cock…” Kadri pauses, twists his finger where it’s buried deep inside of Mitch. “Or should I take my time, work you over until you’re really begging me for it.” Mitch whimpers. 

“Kadri, please,” Mitch says. His voice comes out softer than he means it to, a pleading whine. Kadri makes a considering noise before pinching Mitch’s ass, hard. Mitch yelps at the unexpected sensation, and Kadri laughs. 

“Don’t worry Mitch,” Kadri says. “I already told you, I’ll always give you what you need”. Mitch can’t help the slight whine that escapes his mouth. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this needy, this completely controlled by someone else. Kadri must have done this before, a _lot_. Mitch can’t help but wonder who he learned this with, what players in the NHL had experienced this version of Kadri, that has Mitch begging for anything that he’ll give him. Wonders if there’s anyone on the Leafs that he’s done this with. 

The thought is distracting enough that he doesn’t register that Kadri’s actually pulled his finger completely out until he’s pushing back in with two, cold with added lube. Mitch grunts in surprise, then groans as Kadri works his fingers deep inside of him. His pace is still maddeningly slow, but with two fingers it’s closer to being what Mitch wants. His forehead is pressed to the sheets and his eyes are squeezed shut as Kadri works him open. He doesn’t realize he’s rocking back and forth, slow and encouraging, until Kadri’s grip on his hip tightens, stilling him completely. 

Without his own efforts, it’s even more obvious how slow Kadri is going, how much he’s working to string Mitch out. Mitch doesn’t know what’s worse – knowing exactly what Kadri is doing, or the fact that despite knowing it, there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from succumbing to it. Mitch’s fingers keep opening and closing on nothing, the slight pain of the leather of the belt rubbing on his wrists sending sparks shooting down his arms. It’s good, it’s close, but it’s not enough, and it only takes a single thrust of Kadri’s fingers, just a little bit faster, just a little bit deeper, just a little bit closer to what Mitch wants for him to break, letting words fall from his lips without thinking. 

“Please,” he says, “oh god, please, Kadri, I need more, I need your cock, _please_.” He can barely hear the considering noise Kadri makes in response over his own panting breaths. He opens his mouth, ready to keep asking, to keep pleading, when Kadri pushes back in with three fingers. Mitch keens, a long, low noise he’s not sure he’s ever heard come from his mouth before. The stretch is so much more and still, _still_ , not enough. It’s a step closer, though, and he gasps as Kadri’s knuckles reach the skin of his ass, his fingers reaching deep inside of Mitch. If he wasn’t so desperate for more Mitch would be impressed by the slow and steady way that Kadri continues to work him open, how carefully controlled and measured the movements of his hand are as he pushes in and out of Mitch. He’s twisting his fingers, scissoring them slightly, and Mitch would swear that he’s avoiding hitting Mitch’s prostate on purpose, if that was even possible. 

Kadri suddenly thrusts his fingers in completely, and Mitch’s entire body jerks in surprise, arms straining against their bonds. Kadri pauses, fingers still deep inside of Mitch, to run the fingers of his other hand over Mitch’s arms, feeling around the edges of the belt, pulling it up slightly. Mitch’s face burns at the feeling of being inspected, the presence of Kadri’s fingers still inside of him somehow making it worse. Seemingly satisfied with his visual inspection, Kadri moves his hand back to Mitch’s hip.

“Colour?” he asks. 

“Green,” Mitch says, and Jesus but he sounds _wrecked_. Wrecked, and Kadri hasn’t even fucked him yet. Mitch whimpers at the reminder, hitches his hips backwards, and Kadri laughs again. It’s a mean laugh, the same one he brings out in the locker room when they’re all chirping someone, and Mitch spares a second to be genuinely worried that he’ll never be able to hear it again without getting hard. 

“Okay, okay,” Kadri says, pulling his fingers out. Mitch can’t help but gasp at the loss, and gasp again when they’re immediately replaced by the blunt press of the head of Kadri’s cock. He doesn’t push inside though, just rests it there, against Mitch’s hole. “You clean Mitchy?” Kadri asks, and Mitch is actually going to die. 

“Yeah,” he gasps out, “green, fuck, yes, I’m clean.” The press of Kadri’s body against his back is unexpected, as is the press of Kadri’s teeth into the round of his shoulder as he bites him. Mitch groans at the feeling, mouth dropping open in surprise as he tilts his head on instinct, baring his neck for Kadri. Kadri moves up the length of Mitch’s neck with a drag of teeth and wet press of tongue until the lobe of Mitch’s ear is between his teeth. He lets go, breath ghosting hot over Mitch’s ear. 

“Me too,” Kadri whispers, before pulling back. Mitch braces himself for the push of Kadri’s cock inside of him, whines when it doesn’t come. Kadri keeps the head of his cock tight against Mitch’s hole, pressing it back and forth with the tiniest little movements that Mitch, body primed for the slightest stimulation, can feel in his toes. “Look at you,” Kadri mutters. “So ready for me, so eager to open up for me. Your hole keeps trying to swallow my cock, can you feel that Mitchy?” Mitch whimpers, rocks his face back and forth against the hot, damp sheets beneath him. “Yeah, of course you can. A slut like you is always wanting more, always desperate for whatever you can get. You want my cock Mitchy?”

“Yes, please, God, Naz, please. Please give me your cock, I need it so bad. Need you to fuck me, need you inside of me, please, please, plea–” Kadri cuts him off with a laugh. 

“Okay Mitchy, okay,” he says, running a soothing hand over Mitch’s hip. “I got you.” 

Kadri is as slow pushing his cock inside of Mitch as he was with his fingers before it, a steady, inescapable press, forcing Mitch open. Mitch is open-mouthed panting into the sheets, eyes wide at the sensations sparking through his body as Kadri moves deeper and deeper inside of him. It’s so much, the stretch of him, the thick width of him splitting Mitch open, the hot press of his cock sliding into Mitch. He doesn’t know if he can really feel a difference, compared to when guys have fucked him wearing a condom, or if it’s just how worked up he is with Kadri’s teasing that everything feels so much _more_. His fingers twitch uselessly behind his back as Kadri slowly sinks inside of him until his hips are pressed tight to the sore flesh of Mitch’s ass. Kadri only pauses there for a second, Mitch barely able to take a breath before he’s drawing back out as slowly as he entered. 

Mitch half expects Kadri to give up his control, now that he’s inside Mitch. He can’t say he’s that surprised though when Kadri instead chooses to keep up the exact same maddening pace, sliding his cock slowly in and out of Mitch. He’s vaguely aware of the way that he’s whining, desperately trying to make his own hips move against the solid grip of Kadri’s hands, holding him still. Everything about this is overwhelming, from the press of Kadri’s cock to the way that he’s able to control Mitch so completely. He thought he’d done a lot of shit, had a lot of wild shit done _to_ him with the Knights but that was nothing compared to the way that Kadri has managed to take complete ownership of Mitch, has managed to strip him down to nothing but sensation and the give and take of Kadri’s cock sliding in and out of him. He feels laid bare, helpless, consumed and controlled. 

“You want more Mitchy?” Kadri finally asks, the bastard, as if he doesn’t already know. Mitch makes a desperate, pleading noise, trying to move his hips back again only to again feel Kadri’s grip on his hips tighten in response, fingers digging into Mitch’s flesh. “C’mon Mitchy, use your words,” Kadri says, voice mocking, and Mitch hates him for the way he doesn’t even sound winded, doesn’t sound even the least bit affected by having his dick literally inside of Mitch as they talk. 

“Please,” he says anyways, because if Kadri doesn’t fucking give it to him he thinks he might actually die. “Please, God, Kadri, please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

“Okay,” Kadri says, voice mild as anything, before he pulls out almost completely and _slams_ back into Mitch. Mitch almost shouts, half surprise, half pleasure, as Kadri finally, _finally_ , speeds up. The pace he sets is punishing, his hips harshly smacking into Mitch’s sore ass on every thrust, and Mitch loves it, can’t help but gasp and moan into the sensation. It’s amazing, incredible, and so fucking overwhelming that he can’t think about anything other than the sensations that Kadri is sparking in him. He’s opening up for him so easily, every time, his body welcoming Kadri’s cock inside of him, splitting him open again and again. One of Kadri’s hands moves from his hip to grab onto the belt for leverage, forcing Mitch to arch his back into the movement and fuck, _fuck_ , his cock finally finds Mitch’s prostate. Mitch half shouts at the sensation, the pleasure shooting down his spine from the slide of Kadri’s cockhead over his prostate, the unnatural arch he’s being forced into, the bite of the belt into the vulnerable skin of his wrists. He’s feeling overwhelmed in the best way possible, which is probably why he doesn’t notice that his knees are slowly sliding down the bed until Kadri is suddenly swearing and pushing him back up the bed before he resumes fucking him. He begins to slide back again after only a couple more thrusts however, helpless to stop his movement with his hands still bound together behind him. Kadri makes an annoyed noise and pushes him back up. It only takes one more instance of Mitch almost sliding off the bed before Kadri swears in frustration. He shoves Mitch away from him, back up towards the middle of the bed. Mitch whines as Kadri’s cock slips out of him, whines again when he feels Kadri tug the belt straight off his wrists. 

"Kadri…" he starts, before Kadri is suddenly on top of him, rolling him over and pulling his hands back together. He pins Mitch's hands over his head, and Mitch gasps at the pain as his muscles, after so long spent locked in one position, are forced to accommodate the sudden change. He doesn't have time to linger on the pain however, before Kadri is pushing back inside. On his back, the angle is different, hitting his prostate less, but thankfully Kadri seems to be done torturing him because he goes right back to slamming in and out of Mitch. Mitch flexes his hands, experimentally, and smiles when Kadri tightens his grip on them with a warning look. He can't get over the way that Kadri is able to hold both his hands with a single one of his, the way he's able to pin Mitch to the bed with his hands and cock, the way he's splitting Mitch open and working him apart. On his back, Mitch is far more aware of the way his cock is leaking, drooling precum onto his abs as his entire body is jerked back and forth with the force of Kadri thrusting inside of him. He's desperate to come, desperate to feel Kadri come inside of him, but at the same time never wants this moment to end, never wants to lose the feeling of being broken down and owned completely. Kadri is punching these little helpless, broken noises from Mitch's throat with every thrust. Those noises, the slap of flesh against flesh and both men's panting breaths combine in an obscene symphony, the only sound in the otherwise still condo. 

"Can you come like this?" Kadri asks and this time at least he sounds affected by what they're doing, a shake in his words that hadn't been present up to this point. 

"Yeah, yeah I can, please," Mitch says, barely able to think around the sensation of Kadri's cock driving in and out of him. 

"Yeah?" Kadri echoes back to him. "You gonna be good for me Mitchy, come untouched on my cock like a good boy?" Mitch gasps out his agreement, and Kadri smiles at him, and the expression on his face is nothing short of predatory. "Keep your hands there," Kadri orders, letting go of Mitch's wrists to grab ahold of his hips with both hands. Mitch moans at the loss but still keeps his hands locked together above his head. He's rewarded by Kadri's fingers digging into his hips as he tugs at him, changing the angle slightly as he fucks into Mitch impossibility harder. The change of angle sends his cock directly into Mitch's prostate, and Mitch couldn't stop the shout that leaves his mouth even if he tried. 

"God, Kadri, please," he says, tossing his head to the side and squeezing his eyes shut against the pleasure overwhelming his entire body. He's getting closer, tells Kadri as much, and the other man grins down at him as he slams into him over and over again. 

"C'mon Mitchy," he says, "you can do it. Come on my cock baby. Show me how much you like my dick inside of you, show me what a slut you are." Mitch gasps, every muscle in his body finally tensing as his back arches up off the bed and he comes, long messy strings hitting his stomach. Kadri doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, just continues to relentlessly fuck Mitch as Mitch comes down from the throes of his orgasm. He's whining, too sensitive, but when Kadri asks, he tells him to keep going. It’s too much, way too much, but Mitch wants it, wants the way that he can’t think past the movement of Kadri inside of him, wants the way that the pleasure of Kadri hitting his prostate is edging closer and closer to pain. He wishes that his hands were still tied but the loss of Kadri’s hand around his wrists is worth it for the bruises he suspects the older man will be leaving on his hips with how hard he’s holding him, how fast he’s fucking him. 

Kadri doesn’t really give Mitch any sort of warning, any sort of sign before his thrusts begin to falter. Finally, Kadi groans, a familiar echo of the way that he sounded earlier, and Mitch swears he can feel it as Kadri comes inside of him, filling Mitch up. Mitch is gasping like he was the one who just came for the second time this night, loud heaving breaths as Kadri slowly sits back on his knees. Mitch makes a small, sad noise as Kadri slips from him, and Kadri laughs at him, a mean sound as he meets Mitch’s eyes. 

“You like that huh Mitchy?” he asks, reaching between Mitch’s legs with one hand. Mitch feels the pads of Kadri’s fingers press against the swollen rim of Mitch’s entrance, feels the way his body gives way immediately to the slightest bit of pressure. Kadri doesn’t push in though, just circles the rim, before moving down to swipe at the skin just below his hole. Mitch doesn’t really realize what he’s doing until Kadri holds up his fingers for Mitch to see, Kadri’s cum slick on his fingers. Mitch realizes that it must be literally leaking out of him, and he can’t help the moan that slips from him at the thought. Kadri grins at him before returning his fingers to Mitch’s hole. He swipes around it again, gathering up any cum that had escaped, before pushing back in with three fingers. Mitch groans, back arching at the sensation. It’s gone beyond too much, the stretch of Kadri’s fingers inside of him making sparks dance at the edge of his vision. Kadri fucks his fingers in and out of Mitch, pausing to swipe up any cum that leaks out every couple of thrusts. It _sounds_ wet, sounds like the couple times that Mitch and whoever he was fucking used too much lube; a gross, dirty noise, one that makes Mitch squirm in humiliation even as he hitches his hips towards Kadri in encouragement. 

“God, you’re such a slut,” Kadri says, but there’s none of the mocking in his voice that was there earlier, instead he just sounds… fond. Mitch squeezes his eyes shut as Kadri continues to move his fingers in and out of him. He’s whining and whimpering pretty much nonstop, every sensation that Kadri’s fingers tug from him too much. He twists his fingers together and pushes his hips back, seeking more even as every part of his body begs for him to stop. Kadri pauses, fingers rubbing at Mitch’s hole for a long, teasing minute before he pushes back in again. Mitch can’t figure out why it feels like so much more for a long moment, before he finally realizes that Kadri has added another finger, tucked in alongside the other three. _I can’t,_ Mitch thinks to himself, _oh god I can’t, I can’t, I can’t_ But it turns out he can, and Mitch _sobs_ as Kadri’s knuckles meet his ass, push against where he’s working Mitch open all over again. 

“That’s it Mitchy,” Kadri says, voice soft as Mitch feels a tear squeeze from beneath his closed lids. His fingers are huge inside of him, too big to avoid Mitch’s prostate, and Mitch starts crying in earnest as one of Kadri’s knuckles presses against it, _hard_. “You want me to stop?” Kadri asks, and Mitch shakes his head without opening his eyes. 

“No,” he says, voice horse, “no, green, please, I can’t–” Kadri hushes him, fucks his fingers in and out and in and out. 

“Think you can come again Mitch?” Kadri asks, and Mitch shakes his head, his brain feeling sluggish and cottony. He can’t come again, isn’t even hard, but Kadri keeps fucking him anyways, rubbing up against his prostate every time with brutal precision. Mitch can’t stop crying, little hitched cries mixing with the wet sound of Kadri shoving his cum back up inside Mitch over and over again. 

“You take that so well Mitchy, look so good like this.” Mitch blinks his eyes open, lashes heavy with tears, to see Kadri staring between his legs, where his fingers are being swallowed up by Mitch’s body again and again. “Think you could take my fist?” he asks, his tone so conversational that it takes Mitch a second to register what he’s said and then Mitch is crying out, shuddering all over, his soft cock twitching on his stomach. He doesn’t come, can’t have come, but it kind of feels like he did as he lays there, shaking and gasping for breath. Kadri finally eases his fingers out of Mitch completely, and Mitch can’t help the noise he makes as he slips free. Kadri hushes him, and then gets up off the bed. Mitch lets his eyes drift shut, feeling completely exhausted. He hears Kadri come back, feels him wipe Mitch clean, familiar motions. He still whimpers when Kadri’s hands touch his wrists, gently pulling his hands apart where they were still tightly clasped together. He sluggishly blinks his eyes open to see Kadri sitting next to him on the bed, a slight frown on his face as he massages the skin of Mitch’s wrist. Mitch watches him for a moment, before letting his eyes drift shut again. 

He falls asleep like that, with the feeling of Kadri’s fingers gently passing over his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to past consensual sex between teenagers. BDSM scene includes bondage, face slapping, and hitting with a belt.


	2. John

Him and Naz don’t talk as much as they used too, unsurprising when they only really get the chance to spend time together a couple times a year, during the summer. Still, he isn’t surprised to see a text from Naz among the long list of messages he’s received in the hours since the announcement, Naz’s having come in less than an hour after the news broke. 

_u can keep ur number this time ;)_ it says, and John snorts.

* * *

Attending training camp with another team is strange, something that John hasn’t done in a very long time. He’s feeling awkward about his choice, still slightly overwhelmed with the amount of hatred that’s been directed at him all summer. He knew people would be upset, would be angry, but he honestly hadn’t thought it would be this bad. He’d tried his best, done his best, and didn’t really get why their fa– why Isles fans didn’t see that, didn’t see that it was time for him to move on. To embrace the chance at a dream he’d thought he’d let go of at 18. 

His first practice, his first time skating with Mitch Marner, almost makes him forget every nasty comment. It wasn’t just as good as the tape Dubas had showed him had made him believe it would be – it was better. 

“He’s good eh?” Naz says, skating over and nudging his shoulder against John’s. John continues to track Marner across the ice as he stops to say something to Andersen, head thrown back in laughter at whatever Andersen says in reply. 

“He’s amazing,” John says, as blunt and honest as he ever is, and Naz laughs. 

“Yeah, he is,” he says, and skates away before John can think to ask if he’s going to miss having Marner on his line instead of John’s.

* * *

They take him out for his birthday and it’s unexpectedly fun. Or, maybe it’s not so much how fun it is that’s unexpected, but the way that there’s no hesitation about including him. They’re nudging him when they make in-jokes like he’s already in on them, talking around and over and with him in a familiar way that far outstrips the actual span of time that he’s known most of them. He’s never felt like he was just another one of the guys so fast and it’s nice, it’s a good time. They sing him happy birthday and he’s pretty sure he ends up on more than one of their instagrams, and probably snapchat too, or whatever it is that the young guys are using now. Naz leans over to ask him if he’s got any birthday plans for when he’s back in Toronto, throwing in a wink and the exact same suggestive smile that he used to throw around like currency in juniors for good measure. He leans over too far when he asks, has to put his hand on Marner’s thigh to catch his balance. John notices Marner wince, and wonders if his new winger took a puck during practice. He says something noncommittal back to Naz, and the other man laughs as he leans back, still far too familiar with John’s tells and probably fully aware that any subtext John tried to imply was a lie. John sighs, and looks down at his plate. _Nothing wrong with wanting a quiet night in,_ he tells himself firmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Naz lean in to whisper in Marner’s ear, and hopes that Naz saw him wince and is checking in on him, making sure he didn’t hurt him.

* * *

It’s their third practice back in Toronto when Marner walks into the dressing room with a giant hickey on his neck. John grins when he sees it, but doesn’t even get the chance to open his mouth before Matthews and Rielly are descending on Marner in a flurry of chirps. Matthews reaches over to poke at the bruise, and Marner swats him away with a laugh, slowly getting more and more red. John watches in amusement for another minute before turning away. He jumps slightly, realizing that Naz is standing right next to him, watching the younger men as they begin to shove at each other in earnest. 

“You good?” he asks. Naz blinks, shakes his head a bit as he turns towards John with a grin. 

“Yeah, sorry, just zoned out a bit. Whats up?” John tilts his head towards the other guys. 

“Looks like Mitchy’s been hooking up with a vampire,” he says. Naz looks started, then laughs.

“Yeah, he comes in with those petty regularly.” John raises an eyebrow. 

“His girlfriend does that _regularly_?” John looks back at Marner. It’s a pretty big bruise, dark purple and visibly swollen. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Naz shrug. 

“Don’t think he has a girlfriend,” he says, and John looks at him in surprise. 

“Really?” Naz frowns at him. 

“Has he mentioned having one to you?” he asks. John shakes head. 

“Not directly, but I guess some of the things he’s said… the way he acts sometimes, not going out with the younger guys… I just assumed.” John shrugs. An expression John can’t read flashes across Naz’s face as he looks back at the younger men. Matthews now has Marner in a headlock, Marner’s arms flailing wildly as he tries to break free. John shakes his head, turns back to his stall. It seems even more crazy to him that Marner is letting strangers leave bruises like that on him. It’s one thing to be a young idiot, letting your girlfriend give you a hickey, mark her territory or whatever, but to let a stranger do that… He pauses, stares at his jersey for a moment. 

_Jesus I’m getting old,_ he thinks to himself.

* * *

The next time he notices a bruise on Maner, it’s because Naz is staring at him so hard he almost lets John drop his weight on himself. When he finally grabs the bar, it’s with a flurry of apologies, and John sits up with a huff of annoyance. 

“You’re a terrible spotter,” he says, aiming for joking and firmly landing on pissy instead. For his part, Naz looks genuinely sorry as he apologizes again, though he does still seem very distracted. John shakes his head, turns to see what had caught his friend’s attention so thoroughly that he’d almost let John die. The only person in sight is Marner, doing squats on the other side of the room. John glances at him, disinterested, then does a double-take. The younger man has stripped off his shirt, down to his shorts as he raises and lowers the bar. Underneath his Leafs shirt, Maner is all wiry muscle, compact and utilitarian in his build. What catches John’s attention though – well, what catches his attention other than the way that Marner’s skin is slick with sweat, which John is very firmly Not Thinking About – are the bruises on his back. It takes John a second to figure out why they seem so unusual to him, what makes them stand out above the standard smattering of hockey bruises that litter Marner’s skin, and the skin of everyone else on the team. 

Marner’s back is covered in distinct lines, marching up and down the length of his spine. 

John swallows roughly, and turns away immediately. He stares blankly ahead, taking a deep breath in and out. He glances at Naz to find the other man still staring in Marner’s direction. He smacks Naz in the stomach, plastering what he’s sure is a shaky smile on his face when the other man turns to glare at him.

“Let’s go get some cardio in, eh?” he asks, gestures to the opposite side of the gym. He wonders if Naz noticed the same thing that John did, if he’s thinking the same things John is. John can’t bring himself to look at his friend as he curses at John, doesn’t want to know what’s on Naz’s face, or what Naz might see on his face. Despite his bitching, Naz still joins him in heading over to the other side of the room, far from where Marner continues to work through his own routine. 

John decides not to think about it.

* * *

The loss hadn’t actually been that bad, more based on luck than skill or effort, so it hadn’t been difficult for Rielly to successfully petition a handful of guys to go out to the bar anyways. John hadn’t managed to score that night, something that had become remarkably rare in the short time he’d spent with the team, Marner and him just not quite connecting the way they had been. Still, it was easy for John to relax and enjoy the ebb and flow of the conversations around him as he nursed his single beer. He wasn’t planning on staying out late, never did, but it was important to participate in team bonding activities, including the instant and brutal chirping of Matts when he was soundly turned down by the woman he was attempting to hit on by the bar. Marner got out of the booth to let him in, Matts’ face resigned as he slid into his seat and faced the eager group of his teammates. John smiled but didn’t participate. His attentioned drifted after a few minutes, the conversation turning from Matts’ failure to the planning of Hyman’s wedding next summer. 

John lets his eyes wander around the room, landing finally on Marner leaning against the bar, clearly waiting for the bartender to finish flirting with the group of women clustered around the opposite end of the bar. As he watches, Naz comes up behind Mitch, lightly touching his elbow and making the other man start. Naz glances over at the bartender, then mirrors Mitch’s position. John watches them talk for a moment Naz’s expression intense as he looks at Mitch. The younger man looks more and more tense the longer they speak, until he’s visibly squirming where he stands. John frowns. He doesn’t know what Naz is saying, but he hopes it’s not about the game. Losses were never any one player’s fault, and this game more so than others. Just because him and Mitch had been held off the scoresheet didn’t mean that Mitch hadn’t tried. John was just beginning to think about getting up and going over to intervene, to tell Mitch that whatever it was, it wasn’t his fault, when the bartender finally came up to Naz and Mitch. John watches the tension bleed from Marner’s shoulders as they talk to the bartender. He resolves to have a talk with Naz about how he’s speaking to John’s winger.

* * *

The employee parking at the Scotiabank arena is, in John’s opinion, creepy at the best of times, and even more so two hours after a game has ended. Almost everyone had left the arena, leaving behind a vast, empty underground cavern. John, of course, had parked at the far end, about as far as he possibly could go and still be in the parking lot. He sighed as he let the door of the building shut behind him, mildly regretting his decision to stay and watch tape at the arena. He could have just taken it home with him, but he really did prefer to keep his work at work, even if it meant leaving the arena alone at almost one in the morning. 

There were still a handful of cars scattered around, and John frowns when he notices the grey BMW parked near his truck. He’s not quite positive, but he thinks it might be Naz’s car, and he has no idea why the other man would still be there, or why John wouldn’t have seen him in the player’s area if he was still around. Detouring slightly, John heads towards the car, his curiosity getting the best of him. He’s looking directly at the vehicle as he approaches it, but he still manages to almost reach it before he registers that there’s someone in the driver’s seat. He decides to blame it on the heavy tinting of the windows, though it’s not so heavy that a couple of steps closer doesn’t confirm his suspicions that it’s Naz’s car. 

Kadri himself is sitting in the driver’s seat, eyes shut and head thrown back. The expression on his face is one that John hasn’t seen since they were in juniors together, but is still familiar, despite all the time that has passed since they were those dumb kids. He’s not at all surprised to see, as he draws nearer, the awkwardly hunched body of someone leaning over Naz’s lap, head bobbing up and down, the motion at least partially controlled by the hand Naz has tangled in their short hair. John surpreses a sigh, rolling his eyes. He takes a couple steps closer, thinks about banging on the window to scare Naz and whoever he is with. He’s just decided against it when the person sucking Naz’s dick shifts, and John freezes where he is. 

Marner meets John’s eyes, but doesn’t even pause what he’s doing, maintaing eye contact with John as he takes Naz into his mouth completely. His eyes are wet with unshed tears, get wetter as he stares at John without blinking. John can’t even begin to process what’s happening in front of him, frozen with shock. Then Marner _winks_ at him before sucking Naz down to the root, closing his eyes and moaning in pleasure. The movement draws an answering moan from Naz and it’s enough to finally break the spell, John turning on his heel and resuming his walk back towards his truck. When he gets in the cab, he has to sit for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to get the image of Marner sucking Naz’s dick out of his mind. It keeps replaying though, on a loop and out of his control. Naz’s cock sliding into Mitch’s mouth over and over again, the way Marner’s lips looked wrapped around it, the way he seemed desperate to take it, the way Naz’s hand in his hair was making him take it. He presses the heel of his hand to his own cock, swearing at himself. He’s been half hard since he realized who it was in the car with Naz, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. That’s his winger, his teammate, and John is thinking about what he’d look like with John’s cock in his mouth instead. 

John swears at himself, takes his hand off of his dick and forces himself to start the truck. It’s only as he’s beginning to drive out of the parking area, firmly ignoring the sight of Naz’s car in his rearview mirror, that he remembers the bruises on Mitch’s back.

* * *

It’s early, but John barely got any sleep last night, tossing and turning and replaying a million small moments in his head, so he figures it’s fair play for him to wake up Naz. It’s his fault, after all, his actions that caused John to spend so much time picking apart every interaction he’d ever seen Naz and Mitch have, every bruise on Mitch’s body that couldn’t easily be explained by hockey. It didn’t take long for his arousal to turn to anger the previous night, his own shame at being turned on buried under how furious he is with Kadri. He’s not even sure what he’s going to say to Naz, too sleep-deprived and angry to think of it ahead of time. John doesn’t think he can remember ever feeling this upset before, this thrown off of his usual calm equilibrium as he drives to Naz’s building. A woman is just leaving the condo as John is walking up, and he slips in the door behind her, viciously happy at the thought that Naz won’t have any warning that John is coming. He deserves it, deserves to be just as off-balance as John is. More than that though, John doesn’t want to give him the chance to practice whatever excuses he’s going to try and give. 

He barely restrains himself from pounding on Naz’s door, immediately gives up and bangs on it properly when Naz doesn’t answer it after a couple of minutes. It only takes a couple more seconds after that before he hears the sounds of footsteps approaching the door, the sound of the lock being turned. The door opens, and whatever angry words John had in his mouth evaporate at the sight of Marner standing in front of him, sleepy-eyed and dressed only in an oversized shirtsy, the number 43 clear on the sleeve that’s slipping off his shoulder. Marner’s eyes widen in surprise, but all John can focus on is the bite mark on Mitch’s shoulder, and he sees red. He pushes past Mitch before he has the chance to react, stalking through the condo towards the bedroom. When he steps through the doorway, Naz is already beginning to sit up, the look of confusion on his face quickly turning to apprehension when he sees John. He’s clearly naked under the sheets, and John is amazed to find that he’s capable of somehow becoming even more angry with the other man. 

“What the fuck,” he spits, and Kadri holds up his hands. 

“John, look–”

“What the fuck,” John interrupts, “do you think you’re doing?” 

“Joh–”

“That is our fucking teammate,” John gestures behind him, vaguely aware that Marner has followed him to the bedroom, is now hovering nervously in the doorway. “And you’re _fucking_ him? Doing god-knows what else to him?” 

Naz has the nerve to smirk slightly. 

“You kno–” he starts, but John doesn’t let him finish.

“Shut up,” he snaps, and the smile drops from Naz’s face as quickly as it had appeared. “He’s fucking twenty-one. Have you even thought about that, or were you too goddamn focused on getting your dick wet to think about how fucking inappropriate this is?”

“Hey,” Marner’s voice comes from behind him, and John turns to see the other man looking annoyed, “I’m old enough to make my own choices, thanks. Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t been putting his dick in me since I was ninete–”

“Mitch,” Naz interrupts, but John’s already moving. Naz scrambles up off the bed, manages to take a couple stumbling steps backwards before John is in front of him. John’s fist meets Naz’s face with a thick thud, and the look of surprised pain on Naz’s face gives John a vicious sense of satisfaction, more than enough to make up for the pain that immediately begins to radiate from his hand. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Naz spits, hand rising to cover his cheek. “Jesus christ Johnny, will you chill the fuck out.”

“Chill out? You want me to fucking chill out? You’ve been _fucking_ our goddamn _teammate_ for _three fucking years_ , Nazem. How the fuck am I supposed to be calm about that?” 

“Dude, you need to relax. It’s not like this is any different than what we got up to when we were with the Knigh–”

“It is different,” John interrupts, furious. “We were all young and dumb back then, fucking juniors bullshit, how can you even–”

“You’re just mad because I got there first,” Naz spits, anger finally taking over his expression, “you wish it was you, don’t you? You have no idea Johnny, how good he takes it, how much he _likes_ it. You can do anything to him and he’ll just beg you for mo–” John doesn’t even register that he’s begun to raise his arm again, too focused on the look of smug satisfaction on Naz’s face and the anger that’s blocking out every thought he might have. Then Marner is grabbing hold of him, and John turns in surprise. 

“ _Stop it_!” Mitch snaps, “Both of you! Jesus Christ. I don’t need you to be my fucking white knight, John. I’m an adult, I know what I’m doing and what I like, and if what I want is for Naz to hit me until I can’t breath from the pain and then fuck me until I’m crying with how good it feels, that’s my fucking choice.” John stares at him, speechless. Mitch stares back at him, face a mask of anger. Mitch’s words are echoing around the inside of John’s head, throughly overriding the anger that had been driving him. He can’t think past the refrain of ‘hit me, fuck me’ repeating over and over again. Something on his face must give him away, because Mitch’s expression shifts from anger to considering and John can’t–

“Fine,” he snaps with an anger that is rapidly dissipating into a confusing rush of arousal and shame, pulling his arm from Mitch’s grip. “You both do what you want, I don’t want any part of this shit.” He turns and stalks from the room, pretends he doesn’t hear Naz shouting ‘you sure about that’ after him.

* * *

John really does try to stay out of it, tries not to think about it, but he can’t help the way that it shifts his relationships with both of the other men. He doesn’t ask Naz to hang out anymore, avoids going out with the guys if it's only a couple of them and Naz. He struggles, sometimes, to meet Mitch’s eye, especially when he comes in with unmistakable marks that spell out a story of what him and Naz have been doing on his skin. It doesn’t affect the way they play together, part John’s own stubbornness and part unstoppable natural chemistry, but that’s about the only good thing about the situation. It’s awkward, and tense, and he has no idea if any of the other guys have noticed. 

He’s so busy worrying about that, worrying about hiding the strain between them, that it takes him a while to notice what Mitch is doing. He’s subtle about it too, John will give him that, stopping well within the range of plausible deniability. It’s a press against John there, a celly that last just a beat too long there. The way that he’s always within John’s eyesight at the gym, wearing shorts that barely deserve the title of clothing while squatting, the way his shirt always manages to slip to show off his bruises whenever John’s nearby. Even after John notices, he would be tempted to dismiss it as his own projection, his brain rebelling against his vain attempts to not think about it, not notice it, if he hadn’t also caught the occasional smirk creeping across Mitch’s lip when he realizes that he’s caught John’s attention, that John has fallen into whatever trap Mitch has laid out for him. 

Mitch is as slow to ramp it up as he was subtle when he started, an escalation that John couldn’t possibly pick out a single element of, a single shift in intent. There’s Mitch sitting right against him in the sauna, their sweaty skin pressed together as Mitch enthusiastically tells him about the newest video game that him and Matts have been burning through, Naz eyeing them up from across the room. He doesn’t know when Mitch grabbed John’s phone, downloaded snapchat, but suddenly there’s that too, little ghost notifications that John doesn’t dare ever tap on in public. They start out mild, nothing really, photos and videos that range from Willy and Matts wrestling together on the floor of Willy’s living room while Mitch laughs hysterically behind the camera to photos of Mitch standing in front of his bathroom mirror, fresh from the shower, flushed red and bare but for the towel wrapped around his waist. 

John knows he needs to talk to him, needs to tell him to stop. He doesn’t know what Marner’s play is here, doesn’t know if Naz knows what Mitch is doing or not. He’d agreed to leave it alone, had been doing just that, but this… this was something that he didn’t know how to deal with. He had been thinking about the Knights more and more lately, the way they had all been so wrapped up in each other, jealously possessive of one another and the things they did together. He’d spent so long not thinking about it, but now that he’d started, it was difficult not to overlay it on what he knew about what Naz and Mitch were doing – what else they _might_ be doing together. He remembered the way he and Naz used to get so competitive with each other, how that would bleed over into whichever of their teammates they were sharing and _fuck_ but that was yet another thing that he’d shoved down over the years, letting the memory gather dust and fade away. It was startling, the sudden remembering. He’d see Naz’s hand linger on Mitch’s back, and remember the way Naz’s hand had looked burried in the hair of a teammate spread out between them. Mitch would send him a photo of him standing in his bathroom mirror, the shadow of someone else in the shower behind him barely visible, and John would remember pressing kisses to Naz’s shoulder as they showered together after practice and after fucking alike. 

He hesitates on talking to him, running alternatives over and over again until suddenly it’s too late, far too late, because it’s been over a month and Mitch has abandoned subtlety. There’s texts, long paragraphs of what he’d like done to him, how he wants to be hit and fucked and then hit again – followed by a halfhearted ‘sorry wrong number’ – that leave John pissed off and hard. There’s still the occasional goofy pic and video of Mitch fooling around with the guys, but more often there’s photos of bruises alongside photos from sex shops asking his opinion on floggers and gags and dildos and half the time he doesn’t even bother with the follow-up apology. He stops _juuuust_ short of dick pics though, and it makes John wonder, occasionally, if Mitch means it or if he’s just teasing John with what he knows – trying to make him uncomfortable on purpose for what, revenge? To make a point? Naz _still_ hasn’t said anything, and it’s driving John a bit crazy, wondering how much he knows, how much he’s on board with what Mitch is doing. 

He finally gets his answer just a couple days into February.

He’s already got Snapchat open, guiltily rereading something Mitch had sent him weeks ago that he’d saved in the chat, face flushed and getting even redder when Mitch had sent him a ;) in response to the save. So he sees the videos as they come in, purple box after purple box filling him with anticipation and apprehension. He’s already half hard, hand in his boxers lazily palming at his dick, and he takes a deep breath before clicking the first video, bracing himself for whatever Mitch has sent him this time. It’s dark, and John can only really make out vague shapes, the rustling of fabric, the soft murmur of voices. He heards Naz say ‘ok’, barely has time to process that, before the camera is shifting, coming into focus. 

It’s like John’s brain stalls out, and he can only process what he’s seeing in bits. The round globes of someone’s ass – Mitch’s ass, who is he kidding – already bright red from who-knows-what happening before. The pink stretch of his rim, slick with lube and opening easily for the thick cock slowly sliding inside of him. The hand on his hip – Naz’s hand – is holding him in place, fingers leaving dimples in his skin and– the video cuts out, and John is tapping on the next one before he even has time to process what he’s doing, before he has time to think better of it. The next video picks up right where the previous one left off, Naz’s cock still slowly sliding inside of Mitch. Mitch is letting out these breathy little whimpers and whines, and John can’t help the way his hand tightens on his own cock. It cuts out again right as Naz is beginning to draw back out. The next couple of clips are the same: Naz slowly working Mitch open on his cock, Mitch letting out little helpless noises as he takes it so perfectly. When Naz finally begins thrusting in earnest, it gets a lot more difficult to see, the camera shaking with the force of Naz’s movements, but it hardly matters, because the noises Mitch is letting out just keep getting louder and louder. John’s hand is moving across his own cock almost in time with the motions of Naz in and out of Mitch, and he’s already nearing the edge when Naz speaks again. 

“You’re doing so good Mitchy,” he said with a bitten-off grunt as he buries himself inside of Mitch. “Doing so good, fuck, showing Johnny how good you take it.” Mitch groans, and–

Wait, what?

The video ends and there isn’t another. John waits, but nothing comes, and he’s left sitting there alone in his bedroom, one hand gripping his cock and the other on his phone. He waits until the screen goes dark before groaning and throwing it away from him. He takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes and continues to stroke himself. _Show John how good you take it_ , Naz had said, and John imagines himself where Naz was, images himself sliding into Mitch, the way he opened up for it so easily. He strokes himself faster at the thought of what it would feel like. Mitch would be tight and hot around him, taking John as easily as he’d taken Naz, and Naz– maybe Naz would be across from him, feeding Mitch his cock as John fucked into his ass, both of them rocking Mitch back and forth between them. Naz knew, he’s said… he’d sent the video to John, he wanted John to see them together and god, John shouldn’t be jerking off thinking about this. Mitch would look so good though, stuffed full at both ends and desperate for every inch that John and Naz were giving him, gagging and panting and whining, like he’d been whining for Naz’s cock in the video, helpless and desperate and– John tenses, comes all over his fist with a groan. He sits there, panting, for along minute before he lets himself topple sideways, buries his face in his sheets. 

Fuck. _Fuck_.

* * *

If you’d asked John, he would have said that there was no way that Mitch could turn it up any further, no level left for him to escalate to. It turned out, he was very, very wrong, because ever since Mitch and Naz had revealed that they were both in on it, it had managed to get so much worse. John still isn’t sure what they want from him, the why still escaping him, but more and more often he picked up his phone to that familiar purple square waiting for him next to Mitch’s name. He always argues with himself about watching them, always tells himself he should delete the app, confront them, tell them to stop or at least tell him what they want from him. He has his suspicions, what they want, what they are hoping for, what he’s been missing ever since he left the Knights but. 

But.

They didn’t say anything, and John always clicked on the video. It’s Mitch and it’s Naz and more often than not it’s both of them and,

Mitch is standing in the shower without the water on, jerking off. He cums across the tiles and then swipes it up, holds the camera close to his face as he licks it off his fingers and,

Naz is filming, his words taunting Mitch, mocking him as Mitch fucks himself with a giant dildo, face screwed up in pleasure and,

Tears cling to Mitch’s lashes and Naz is holding the camera so, so close, close enough that John can see everything, see the way Mitch’s spit clings to Naz’s cock as Naz eases it in and out of Mitch’s mouth, sliding back into his throat and,

The flogger is black leather with little purple leather flowers at the tip and Mitch makes the most beautiful noises when it hits his skin and,

Mitch takes four fingers so easily and,

There’s no sound, Mitch silent for once as he pulls items out of the box, showing each toy to the camera without comment before setting it aside and pulling out the next one and,

It’s just Mitch lying naked on a bed, sweaty and out of breath and smiling slightly, eyes half open as the camera pans over his body and,

Naz laughs, swipes his hair out of his eyes, swats at the camera, tells Mitch to leave him alone when he’s shaving and,

The ropes are vividly, startlingly red against the paleness of Mitch’s skin and,

And,

And,

And it’s nothing special, in the end, just Mitch licking sloppily at the head of Naz’s cock, looking up at the camera, but it’s enough for John, the final straw breaking across his self-control, his anxieties and uncertainties. He’s in his truck without really thinking about it, doesn’t let himself think about it the entire drive over to Naz’s. He can’t stop himself from tapping his foot against the floor in the elevator, jittery and wanting.

Naz smirks when he answers the door. He looks like he was expecting John, even though there was no way he could have known John was coming. John doesn’t know what to say now that he’s here, but Naz doesn’t ask him any questions, just gestures for John to follow him. He leads him back to the bedroom, and John follows in silence, unable to stop his eyes from tracing down Naz’s bare back to where the rise of his ass is barely covered by his sweatpants. 

When they get to the bedroom, Naz stops just inside the doorway, turns back to watch John’s face as he steps through the door and takes in the room. It shouldn’t be a surprise but John still sucks in a harsh breath at the sight of Mitch lying naked on the bed, chest rising and falling with deep, desperate breaths as he stares, glassy-eyed, at John and Naz. John is vaguely aware of the way that Naz continues to observe him as he looks at Mitch. It’s clear that him and Naz have been doing… whatever, for a while now. Mitch’s skin is slick with sweat, face flushed, mouth red and swollen. His arms are tied above his head, shackled to the ring installed on Naz’s bed frame, and John presses the heel of his hand to his dick before he can think better of it. Mitch tracks the motion, licks his lips. 

“ _Fuck_ ”, John says, voice qiuet but more than loud enough in the silence of the bedroom to make both of the other men smile at him. 

"We've been waiting for you," Naz says, almost at the same time as Mitch speaks. 

"Took you long enough," he says, and John shakes his head. 

"You could have just asked," he says. Mitch smirks, a recklessly cocky expression given the situation he's in.

"Where's the fun in that?" he asks. John shakes his head as Naz laughs. John turns towards him and lets himself feel, for the first time in years, just how much he's missed Naz in this context, Naz looking back at him with desire in his eyes and a confident smile bending his lips. 

"Come here," Naz says, voice soaked in affection, and John goes easily, stepping into the other man's space and bending to meet his lips with his own. It's been years since he tasted the other man but it's almost shocking in its familiarity, the shape of Naz's mouth, the way he kisses, the hand that rises to cradle John's neck. John sinks into the sensation as they kiss and kiss again. He doesn't know how long they've been kissing, doesn't know how much longer they'd keep kissing if they weren't interrupted by the rattle of metal against wood accompanied by a loud whine. They break apart, look towards the bed to find Mitch staring back at them, biting his lower lip hard enough that the skin around it has turned white. Naz laughs and it's mean and god John had missed this, only now admitting to himself just how much. 

"Don't worry Mitchy," Naz says, voice mocking, not letting go of John. "We haven't forgotten about you. But you have to wait your turn." Mitch whines again, but Naz ignores him, turns back to John and tugging at his shirt until John gets the message and pulls it off. Naz smiles as he runs his hands down John's exposed chest. 

"Jesus Johnny," Naz says, and it's John's turn to smile. Naz tugs him back into a kiss, and John goes easily. They kiss until John's lips feel bruised and swollen with it, until Mitch's whines are an almost constant soundtrack, and then they kiss some more. Finally, Naz pulls back. 

"Guess we should do something about him, eh," he says, gesturing towards the bed with a jerk of his head. John looks over to where Mitch is squirming on the bed, wide-eyed and staring. 

"Guess so," he says, and is satisfied to see the way Mitch shivers in response to his roughened voice. Naz lets him go to wander over to the bed. He runs his hand through Mitch's hair, and the other man leans into the touch. 

"What do you think?" Naz asks, tone conversational even as he grabs a fistful of Mitch's hair and pulls it roughly backwards, making Mitch gasp and arch his neck backwards to try and release some of the pressure. "He'll do anything you want and beg for more. Such a slut, can never get enough cock. You can hurt him too, hit him until he’s crying and he’ll still be asking for more." John hums, considering, walks closer. There's so much, so much he knows they've done, so much he's thought about doing with them, that he's almost overwhelmed with choice. Still, what Naz said–

"He can never get enough cock?" John asks, keeping his voice casual even as he reaches down to grab hold of one of Mitch's nipples. He twists, not too hard, testing, and Mitch gasps. Naz looks at him with an expression that says that he can't wait to hear where John is going with this. 

"Yeah," he says. "Real cockslut, this one." He twists his hand tighter in Mitch’s hair, and Mitch’s eyes slip shut at the sudden increase in pain. John hums, trails his hand down Mitch's chest, skirting his cock to reach between his legs and press a finger against the furl of his hole. It's already wet, gives at the lightest pressure, and John wonders again at what they had been doing prior to John's arrival. 

"Have you ever put more than one in him?" he asks, and Mitch's entire body jerks. 

"Please," he says, interrupting their conversation for the first time. "Oh god, please." Naz smiles down at him. 

"Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you Mitchy? Maybe between the two of us, Johnny and me would finally be able to give you enough." Naz turns back to John, the grip he keeps in Mitch's hair the only continued acknowledgement of the man they are discussing. 

"Mitchy's sucked a dildo while I've fucked him before," Naz says, and it’s only years' worth of familiarity that lets John see the affect the man’s own words are having on him. "But we've never had anyone else join us." John presses at the rim of Mitch's hole, testing, before sinking a finger in, smiling at the way Mitch twitches in surprise. "What about in here?" he asks, and Naz grins as Mitch whines. 

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p'. "Mi–"

"Yes," Mitch responds before Naz even has the chance to ask a question. "Fuck, yes, please, green, yes." John and Naz smile at each other, and John tests another finger against the rim of Mitch's hole, and is rewarded with the sensation of it sliding inside, easy as anything. 

"What have you been doing to him?" John asks, taking a step to the side to get a better look at how easily Mitch is opening up for him. 

"He sucked me off," Naz says, “and then I made him spit out my cum so I could finger it into his hole.”

"Jesus," John says, kind of impressed. "That's filthy." Naz grins at him.

"Isn't it?" he says. "He's such a slut, loves getting cum inside of him anyway he can take it. I was just getting ready to see how long he could take my fingers without coming when you showed up." John smiles, begins thrusting his fingers in and out of Mitch. 

"Do you think he could hold off coming with both of us inside of him?" Naz smiles.

"Why don't we find out?"

"Mitch?" John asks, and Mitch whines. 

"Please," he says, and John pulls out his fingers, wiping them on the bedspread and ignoring the look Naz shoots him. 

"I need more lube," he says, and Naz grabs it for him. He kicks off his pants and briefs before taking it from Naz's hand, climbing up onto the bed until he's kneeling between Mitch's spread thighs. Mitch's eyes are wide, staring down at where John's cock is jutting out from his body, and John smirks at him as he pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. 

"See something you like?" he asks as he moves his fingers down to circle Mitch's hole. Mitch just licks his lips in response, and John smiles. He doesn't waste anymore time, pressing in with three fingers. Mitch gasps, back arching at the sudden intrusion, hands pulling helplessly at his bonds. John moves his fingers in and out of Mitch's hole with familiar, practiced motions, eyes flicking back and forth between the way Mitch's hole is stretching to accommodate him and the look of pleasure on Mitch's face, the way he continues to mindlessly pull against the cuffs tying him to the bed. The mattress dips as Naz climbs on next to him, settles in and watches as John continues to stretch Mitch open. 

“I know you haven’t done this with Naz before,” John says, impressed with himself for how deceptively steady he manages to keep his voice. “But have you done it before with someone else?” Mitch opens his mouth to reply, but John adds a fourth finger and his response is swallowed up by a moan of pleasure. It’s a lot, but Mitch takes it as easily as he has everything else that John’s given him so far, slick pink rim stretching wide around John’s fingers. He keeps up the same steady rhythm, in and out, in and out, and is surprised when Naz reaches over to land a hard slap to the vulnerable flesh just below Mitch’s ass. Mitch yelps in surprise and pain, eyes flying open to stare down at the other two men. 

“John asked you a question,” Naz says, and there’s a pause as both John and Mitch try to remember what that was. 

“Yes,” Mitch finally responds. “Yeah, once, at worlds, there was a bunch of us who… and then two of the guys, they…” Mitch trails off, a blush creeping up his face, matching the flush of arousal blooming across his chest. John decides to let him off easy, not pushing for more details as he twists the fingers inside of him and pushes them deeper and deeper. Mitch moans. 

“You should start fucking him now, use your dick to work him open more,” Naz says, eyes fixed on where John’s fingers are dissapearing inside of the other man. “You’re not gonna get much further with just your fingers." John nods, pulls out his fingers, making Mitch groan. 

“Condoms?” he asks, and Naz and Mitch share a look. 

“We’re clean if you are,” Mitch says, and John nods. 

“I’m clean,” he says, and Mitch grins. 

“Perfect,” he says, and Naz laughs. 

“See?” he says. “Told you. Cumslut.” Mitch gets an indignant look on his face. 

“I am not that much–” He cuts himself off with a groan as John, who had been ignoring their conversation in favour of lining his cock up with Mitch’s hole, begins to push in. 

“Oh god,” he says, and John allows himself to sink further inside of the other man. It’s everything he imagined, Mitch hot and wet and tight around him. Naz next to him, watching them, eyes hot and hungry. Mitch is making the most perfect noises as John pulls out and pushes back in, sounds he's heard so many times over video clips that are a thousand times hotter in person, with Mitch squeezing tight around him, with the skin of his hips beneath John's fingers. Mitch's mouth is open, a helpless ‘o’ as John punches gasps out of him with every thrust. They keep eye contact as John begins to take up the rhythm established by his fingers, a steady slide in and out. He keeps it slower than Mitch would probably like, judging by how he tries to push his hips backwards with a whine. Instead, John continues to slowly circle his hips as he grinds in. He wants this to last and besides, they still have to wait for Naz. 

Speaking of– Naz's fingers catch John's jaw, turning his head away from the sight of Mitch sprawled out beneath him, drawing him into a wet, messy kiss. They break apart for air, and John glances down to see Naz with a firm grip on his own cock, working himself to full hardness. John groans at the sight, his hips stuttering and drawing an answering noise from Mitch's throat. 

“You doing ok there Mitchy?” Naz asks, and John looks over at him.

“Please,” Mitch says, moving his hips as much as his bindings allow him. “I need more.” 

“Yeah?” Naz asks. “You ready to take us both baby?” Mitch starts nodding before Naz even finishes asking the question. 

“Yes, please, god.” Naz runs a soothing hand down Mitch’s thigh, before pushing at his side. 

“Roll over,” he says, and John pulls out, moving from between Mitch’s legs. Mitch whines at the loss, but obediently rolls onto his side. Naz lays down on the bed, tapping Mitch’s side once he’s settled. 

“Get on top of me,” he says, and John helps Mitch to move on top of Naz, his back now to John. There’s a rattle from the head of the bed, and Naz makes a frustrated noise. 

“Do you–” John starts, at the same time as Naz curses. 

“Sorry Mitchy,” he says, “but we’re gonna have to undo you.” John can’t see what expression Mitch makes, but whatever it is, it makes Naz laugh. “You can still keep the cuffs,” Naz reassures as he twists around behind himself, doing… something. John hesitates, unsure if he should offer to help. Before he has the chance to decide though there’s a rattle, and Mitch sits up, hands still bound together but no longer tied to the bed frame. 

“There,” Naz says, grabbing ahold of Mitch’s hips and sliding him down to where he needs to be. “Better.” John takes a moment to appreciate the sight of Mitch’s ass raised towards him for the first time that night. He doesn’t linger though, still focused on what’s coming next. 

“John–” Naz starts, but John is already reaching between them, grabbing ahold of Naz’s cock and lining it up with Mitch’s stretched hole. Naz sinks in easily, Mitch moaning as he slides deep inside of him. He bottoms out and both men take a moment to catch their breath, John happy to just sit and enjoy the view for a moment. Mitch is as impatient here as he is everywhere else though, and it isn’t long before he starts to move, fucking himself back onto Naz’s cock in small, shallow movements. When neither John nor Naz stops him he begins to move faster, more confidently until he’s riding Naz properly, head tucked into the crook of Naz’s neck as he shoves himself back and forth. John has the perfect view at this angle of the way Mitch stretches around Naz’s cock, the way he opens up for him, sweet and easy. Both men are letting out breathy noises of pleasure as Mitch rocks above Naz. John reaches down to grasp his own dick without thinking, sucks in a breath at the reminder of just how hard he is, how much he _wants_. 

“God,” he heards Naz say, “stop, Mitchy…” John looks back at them to see Naz pushing himself up onto his elbows, Mitch awkwardly twisted as he looks back at John as well. 

“You ready?” Naz asks. John raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you?” he asks, directing his question to Mitch. Mitch nods, too fast, too eager, but Naz just pushes his hair out of his face rather than mock him. 

“Ok,” John says, repeating the word to himself again, softer, as he begins scanning the sheets for the discarded lube. He pours some out, slicking his cock, before moving between the other men’s legs. He takes a deep breath and nudges the head of his cock up against where Naz is disappearing inside of Mitch. 

“Mitch?’ he asks. 

“Yeah,” Mitch says, and John can’t see his face but Naz is watching him, doesn’t look concerned. “Please.” John takes another breath and pushes. There’s a moment where nothing happens, where John wonders if they really will need to put a hand inside Mitch first, but then Mitch’s body gives way, opens up and welcomes John’s cock inside of it. He sinks in slowly, so slowly, all three men gasping at the sensations sparking through each of their bodies. John doesn’t pause, just keeps up that same slow, steady push inwards until he’s as close as possible given their positions. They’re all breathing heavily by the time John stills, and John can see that Mitch is shaking. Naz runs a hand down his side, but John is the one that asks the question again. 

“You ok?” 

“Yeah,” Mitch says, voice shaky but certain. “God, it’s so much. It’s… I feel so full, _jesus_.”

“Good?” Naz asks, and Mitch nods, loose and enthusiastic. 

“So good,” he says, and John smiles, bends over to press a quick kiss to his shoulder before he sits back up. He makes eye contact with Naz, and the other man nods, so John pulls out, as slowly as he’d entered, before pushing back inside. It feels incredible, looks incredible, how much Mitch is stretching open to take both of their cocks. John moves in and out again and Mitch is making the most incredible noises beneath him, little bitten-off moans, gasps of pleasure as their cocks slide over his prostate over and over again.

“Faster,” Mitch asks, begs. “God please, John, Naz, please.” Naz can’t thrust with much power from his position, so it’s up to John to begin moving in and out of Mitch faster and harder. He can’t believe how well Mitch is taking it, can’t believe that he gets to have this, gets to be here with Mitch and Naz. John is sliding in and out fast enough now that the sounds of skin smacking against skin is providing a steady bassline, running counterpoint to the pants and moans dropping from all of their mouths. 

“I’m not gonna–” John starts, and he can barely see Naz under Mitch, but he does catch him shaking his head. 

“Me either,” he says, “Mitchy, you?” John watches Mitch’s shoulders tense briefly, before he confesses:

“I came when both of you got inside of me.” John groans. 

“Jesus,” he says, speeding up, “Jesus Mitchy god, you…” he trails off, too focused on the squeeze of Mitch’s ass around him, the warmth and weight of Naz’s cock sliding in and out alongside his own. 

“Please,” Mitch gasps, reaching above Naz’s head to grab at the pillows. John watches his fingers clench and release as he fucks in and out of his ass. “God please, come inside of me, I want it, I need it, plea–” Mitch cuts himself off with a gasp as John adjusts his grip on his hip from where it had begun to slip. It changes his angle and judging by how hard Mitch twitches with each thrust, it must have him hitting Mitch’s prostate every time. Mitch is trembling by the time John feels his own thrusts beginning to falter. Naz must feel it too because he lets go of his grip on Mitch with one hand to grab hold of John’s wrist instead. 

“Do it,” he says, “do it, Johnny, come in him.” John only manages one, two more thrusts before he does exactly what Naz tells him to, dick jerking and spilling deep inside of Mitch. Mitch and Naz groan in unison. John thrusts a couple more times, working himself through it, before he lets himself drop back on his heels, spent dick sliding out of Mitch. Naz takes advantage of the extra room he suddenly has to sit up, startling a cry from Mitch as he suddenly sinks completely down on Naz’s cock. Naz’s grip on Mitch’s hips is tight enough that John can see the skin around his fingers turning white as he raises and lowers Mitch onto his dick over and over again, chasing his own release. Mitch is moaning and whimpering pretty much nonstop as Naz fucks into him. John reaches forward, grabs the back of Mitch’s neck, and swallows his moans in a kiss. 

“Shit,” Naz says, and with a groan and a few final, aborted thrusts, stills as well. 

John breaks off his kiss with Mitch to let them both catch their breaths. It sounds wet when Naz pulls out, and, when he carefully lays Mitch down on his back, John can see their combined cum beginning to drip from Mitch’s swollen, used hole.

“Jesus,” he says. Naz glances back at him from where he's working to take off Mitch's bindings.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice rough, sitting up and throwing the cuffs on the bedside table before nudging his shoulder against John’s. “He likes to cuddle,” he tells him. “And you should rub his wrists. I’m gonna go grab a cloth.” He’s gone before John’s brain, cum-dumb, can really process what he’s said, and he’s left staring down at Mitch, who is rapidly falling asleep. 

“Um,” John says. Mitch doesn’t do anything but blink at him sleepily. John mentally shrugs to himself, before crawling over to the dry side of the bed, tugging Mitch back into him. Mitch makes a pleased noise, curls into John’s chest, and John has to work to extract one of his hands so that he can follow the other half of Naz's instructions. That’s how Naz finds them a couple of seconds later when he returns, washcloth in hand.

“Aw,” he says, voice sardonic but eyes warm. “Isn’t this cute?” John rolls his eyes at him as Naz cleans up. He throws the cloth in the general direction of the bathroom but then just stands there, staring down at John and Mitch. 

“Well?” John asks, and Naz shakes his head. 

“Sorry, just, it’s really good to have this again. Especially like," Naz clears his throat, glances away. "Having it with you." 

"Yeah," John replies, voice suddenly rough. "Yeah man, same." Naz looks back at John. 

"It's good," he repeats, "to be Knights together again.” John snorts and rolls his eyes, breaking the moment. 

“Juniors bullshit,” he says as Naz finally crawls into the bed, laying down on Mitch’s other side. 

“Knights forever,” Naz counters, pressing a soft kiss to Mitch’s shoulder without breaking eye contact with John. It’s a challenge, a promise. A threat. John looks at Naz for a long moment before he finally sighs, and Naz smiles, smugly triumphant. 

“Knights forever baby,” Mitch slurs, and John startles at him still being awake. Naz laughs at him and, yeah. Sure, why not.

Knights forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally never even thought of this ship before I saw that prompt but it just grabbed ahold of me and dragged me along and now here we are. I take no responsibility for my actions.


End file.
